Twenty-eight ways to die
by galaxy-starshade
Summary: Londonian children are getting killed. This isn't new to Sherlock, but the trench coat guy with the piercing blue eyes is. And everything becomes very awkward when another guy, pretending to be a Time Lord, shows up in a blue box... Superwholock ! Rated T to be safe, may change later.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The night was dark ; so dark that the street lamps could barely light the peasants' faces. There was no sound to be heard, occasionally, the small whimper of a fleeing cat would break the silence, but that was all. The tall, dark figure of a man walked pass a little street.

The sudden coughing of an asthmatic hoover made him jump. He looked around him, but couldn't see anything from where he was ; he went back and searched the street with vigilant eyes. He didn't notice it at first, but then the evidence jumped to his face. A big white cat had disturbed a bin, and now it was heading to the end of the street, passing by a big blue box.

The man sighed and came back on his tracks. It was late and he wanted to be home ; the dark clouds anounced a coming snowfall.

* * *

The woman wasn't really paying attention. A man had shown up earlier and had bought her entire stock of lotto tickets, so her day was made. While reading a magazine, she distractly thought about closing her shop for the day. Her man wouldn't be too happy, but... it had been ages since she had had a day off. She almost had made her decision when the ring sang and she sighed.

A man entered the store. He wore a beige trench coat and had bright blue eyes. He walked straight through the shelves and went to the counter.

"Hello."

"Hullo", she replied, annoyed that he dared disturb her.

Apparently, he was looking for someone. The woman didn't even try to listen and understand what he was saying. She distractedly looked at the picture he was showing her and nodded.

"Yeah, he lives in this street, just a bit further... Go ahead, you can't miss his flat."

* * *

The sound of a violin broke the silence. The flat was empty, except for a tall man with black curly hair, caressing his instrument with expert long fingers. The music invaded space, covering the walls to the door. The notes descended the stairs and reached the entry door, a big green door with its four golden numbers and letter.

A man with a black trench coat stood at the door. He raised a hand, and knocked four times.


	2. Bored

**Chapter 1 - Bored**

"I'm bored, John. So. Bored. I didn't even know you could be so bored without dying."

John sighed. It was the longuest phrase Sherlock had said in about four hours. The ex-soldier had busied himself with reading the papers, watching crap telly then writing a new entry on his blog (which he didn't post), but Sherlock had just been complaing on the couch all day long. John closed his laptop and went to the door to take his jumper. He put it on, then walked towards the exit.

"Where are you going ?" asked Sherlock. "No, wait. You didn't shave so it isn't, uh... what was her name again ? Jenny. So it isn't Jenny. Lestrade hasn't lately shown his incompetence, so it can't be a case. The wi-fi is has been cut down for two weeks and you didn't receive any phone calls, so you can't be meeting Mike or Molly or any friends you have... Why do you want to leave ?" Now he seemd genuinely interested. Maybe even perplex.

John couldn't even believe he had to explain this to Sherlock.

"Because I am bored _of you_, Sherlock !" he exploded. "You're complaining since about a _week_ now, that you're bored, that you need a case, and I can't bother to support you anymore ! So yes, I'm going out to have a bit o fresh air !"

He went out and slammed the door.

* * *

John couldn't stop walking. He had reached the park a few minutes ago, and after trying to sit on a bench, he had just given up. Now he was boiling with anger. He was normally the cool guy, the one who doesn't get worked up easily. But this days, Sherlock was so annoying... Had he been a fervent christian, he would have rayed every night to get a case.

That was the problem. There had been a few murders, but none of interest. When he had pushed Sherlock to go out to investigate on the death of a old woman, the detective had solved it in a few minutes, before coming back home, even more annoying, if that was possible.

He was there in his reflexions when suddenly, an horrible screaming pierced his ears. Searching for his gun, he remembered it was still in the flat, under his pillow. He swore and ran in the direction of the scream anyway.

* * *

Sherlock sighed. He didn't quite understant why John was so angry after him. Maybe because of his last experiment... Maybe the cow blood in the bottle of strawberry juice wasn't a good idea, after all.

He sighed again. What did normal, ordinary people do when they were bored ? Another sigh. _No idea_. _Surely just boring stuff._

Sherlock got up and took his violin. The silence was intolerable. He began to play, and immediately felt better. Beautiful music had the gift to apease him.

* * *

John didn't know what to do. Someone was hurt, but with all the people around the accident area, he couldn't approach.

"I'm a doctor !" he said, finally losing his patience.

Immediately, a corridor opened for him in the crowd. He advanced to the hurt man. He was half lying, half sitting against a tree, his bloody hand pressed on his neck. the ex-soldier hurried to him.

"What happened ?" he asked, while trying to see the injury.

The man tried to speak, but only bubbles of blood came to his lips.

"It's okay, don't speak if you can't." John turned to the other people. "Someone call an ambulance !" he shouted.

But it was already to late. In a last attempt to speak, the man said hree unintelligible words. He breathed another two times, then went limp in John's arms.

There were screams, and a lot of people ran. Some started crying.

John frowned. He had seen people die in Afghanistan, he wasn't going to throw up, or whatever. But something disturbed him. He withdrew the hand he had pressed on the neck of the now dead man. His hair were in the way, so he pushed them further, and he saw it. A bite mark. _From human teeth_.

* * *

Sherlock was very happy. If this adjective could apply to him, of course, which wasn't so sure. But seeing how he litterally danced through the flat, John couldn't think of a better word to describe his current mood.

The army doctor had called Lestrade, who had arrived about twenty minutes later. He had then insisted on fetching Sherlock, because something as weird.

And John now understood why. From the confuse explanation he had gotten from the detectives, three people had been murdered the same way in the same time. Two men and two women ; three middle-aged and a teenager. So there wasn't any schema, for now, except the bite marks of course ; and it probably was an organized band.

the lab wouldn't find any match for the teeth. Molly had just called them to go to the morgue, and that was the reson why John had to watch Sherlock express his happiness.

"We should go", he finally said. "Molly will want to go back home, and it's nearly five a.m."

"Off we go then", said Sherlock, putting on his black trench coat.

The descended the stairs, Sherlock called a cab and they arrived at St Bart's morgue a few minutes later. Molly was waiting for them, the four corpses on four tables, the lower half dissimulated under white sheet.

"Hi Sherlock, John", she said, blushing a little when saying the detective's name. Which didn't notice anything and nearly ran to the first table.

John exchanged a meaningful look with the young woman.

"So this is our first victim, the one that John found", she said, suddenly more self-confident.

"Well, found... He literally died on me."

"Whatever. So, it looks like human teeth", she explained, while showing the bite mark, "but it isn't. Well, not exactly."

"What do you mean, not exactly ?" asked John.

"It's evident." Sherlock gave him the bitch face you're-drooling-over-yourself category. "Look, marks from the front teeth are a lot too deep. It means the front teeth were a lot too... long, to be human."

"But that's the weirdest part", said Molly. "You're right, Sherlock, the front teeth aren't human. But there are also marks from the molars, and these are definitely human."

"So what ?" John asked. "A freak is biting people to death ? With a vampire set of false teeth ?"

"No, it's impossible. The bite marks are a lot too violent to be due to false teeth. And look. There are other marks. Hand marks, on the arms hand the chest."

The hand marks were violet, which wasn't a good sign. Whoever, or whatever had done this must be of a terrible force.

"So the..." John began, but the ringing of Sherlock's phone interrupted him.

"Lestrade. ... Yes. Yes, we're at the morgue, but I can... Okay. We're coming."

He put it back into his pocket, and turned to John.

"We have to go. They found other bodies.

"Same guy ?"

"Yes. No. Maybe. Their hearts were torn out of their chests."


	3. Flying

**Author's Note : I will reply to all reviews, except from anonymous'. Thank you.**

**Enjoy :)**

**(Spoiler for Season 9 of Supernatural)**

* * *

**Chapter 2 - Flying**

Cass sighed while putting down the papers he was reading. Three dozens of corpses had been found in London in less than a month. What was strange was the way they were killed ; always supernatural, never the exactly the same. The article also said a detective named Sherlock Holmes was on the case. Cass had never heard such a strange name before.

Dean was currently singing "Highway to hell" in his shower, and Sam was away, buying food for the next two days. His shopping trip would take at least one hour, because Dean had insisted on finding pie.

Cass would've had enough time to see by himself what was happening in England, had he still had his wings. But stealing the grace of another angel hadn't brought them back, and so he had to take the car, the plane or his feet to go everywhere.

He missed them. Not only for the fast travel option, but also for their invisible and reassuring presence in his back. He missed his soft black feathers, brushing on his trench coat when he made a quick movement ; though they were invisible, as much for humans as for him, he had been able to feel them even on Earth.

But when Metatron had taken his grace, he had lost them. And sometimes he still had the feeling that they were there, just in his back, but it was just the ghost feeling that a missing arm would send to a war veteran.

Cass sighed again. Thinking about his lost wings wouldn't make them come back, nor help with the murders. He wanted to go to London to solve those crimes, save people, kill things, (the family business, Dean would've said), but he knew the older Winchester was afraid of taking plane.

He had learned that fact about two months ago. They were staying in a little town near New York, and Garth had called them for a shtriga in Nevada (himself was busy with a nest of vampires in Wisconsin). Sam wanted them to take the plane, but Dean had categorically refused. Cass obviously wasn't able to transport them without his wings. Finally, Sam had gone on his own, while Dean and Cass had taken care of a group of werewolves not too far.

Castiel prayed to his Father so Sam would find some pie. It would be a lot easier to convince Dean if his stomach was satisfied. The angel also prepared himself to the puppy eyes face, category "please I need your help". He had discovered his ability not so long ago, and now he used it on purpose.

Dean went out of his shower, half-naked as always (happily enough he had trousers on). He immediately noticed the papers in front of his angel, and the puppy eyes.

"What ?" he asked, grumpy.

Cass put all his soul in his pray for pie (and Sam) and the miracle happened ; the rumble of the Impala approached and suddenly stopped. Dean's face tensed, entirely in the hope of the much-desired dessert.

Sam went in ; he dragged a few bags. Cass closed his eyes.

"Sammy ?" Dean asked, while finally putting on a t-shirt, then a shirt, as if he wanted to be elegant to eat his pie.

"I got pie", Sam said in a reassuring way.

While Dean opened the box and began to eat with various sounds, Cass took Sam apart and showed him the article about the victims. "You tell him about the murders," the angel said, "I got him about the plane." Sam nodded and turned back to his brother.

"Get this," he said while quickly reading the news. "Twenty-four corpses were found in various places, blah blah blah ... the first ones were of every ages but then it's only children... blah blah blah... The other common fact is the level of violence that lead to death... Some bled to death after being bitten, the heart of some was torn out... Another "lot" seventy-five pounds before dying... What do you think ? It's for us, isn't it ?"

But of all his monologue, Dean had only heard one thing. "London ? Are you friggin' kidding me ?"

Cass immediately interrupted. "Yeah, I've thought about that. We'll take a boat, of course. Garth found us places on a boat from a religious travel company. There are only a few disadvantages, but nothing too horrible ; no alcohol authorized, no women, no guns or any kind of weapons... But everything's okay, we'll find our supply at our arrival."

Sam suddenly coughed and turned his back to Dean, so his face was just in front of Cass. The angel saw the enormous grin of the younger Winchester and had to fight back the urge to smile too.

"But the trip will only take four weeks."

"Are you sure..."

"You don't have to apologize." Cass said. "We know you can't take the plane because you're too afraid, but as you can see, everything is arranged."

Sam's grin enlarged. Directly insulting Dean would've lead to open war, but being gentle on him on the pretext that he was afraid of something, while treating him like a child, was the best way to manipulate him.

Cass gave Sam a meaningful glance. If the younger Winchester laughed now all his plan would be ruined. For a better effect, he gave Dean his "puppy eyes" face.

"How long does take the plane ?" Dean asked.

"About six hours," Cass immediately replied.

He could see the train of thoughts in Dean's mind. _Six hours... Four weeks... No guns, no alcohol, no women..._

"We'll take the plane." Dean tried to sound like he had made a decision only based on objective reasons. Sam began to eat his fist to not laugh, but Dean wasn't mistaken by the tremors of his shoulders. Which didn't say anything, trying to gather the pieces of his shattered dignity.

"Good, because Garth hasn't found anything. In fact, he isn't even aware we're going to England." Cass finally permitted a large grin to spread on his face.

Dean gave him _the face_. "You..." He turned to Sam. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

* * *

Sam wasn't going to laugh. He had promised himself he wouldn't. First because Dean would kill him, then because Cass would kill him.

But looking at his brother, lost in the J. F. Kennedy Airport was just too weird. The usually self-confident hunter followed his partners in crime on every step they made.

The had successfully passed all the controls and now they were heading to the boarding gate. Sam felt naked without the demon blade, and he knew Dean wasn't any better without his Colt. Cass' angelic sword had passed the controls without any problems, maybe because of its heavenly provenance.

The finally arrived at the gate 72, where they had to wait for the boarding. Dean immediately began to eat the ridiculously expensive pie he had bought in the duty free zone. Sam just sat down.

"We'll land at six p.m.," Cass said, "in Heathrow Airport in London. You're going to check our hotel in, while I'll go to 221B Baker street. There lives the man called Sherlock Holmes. They say he's a great detective who resolves any problem you give him, but he isn't aware about the supernatural. So I'll tell him to stop his research before he gets killed, and try to gather any information he has."

"What do you think we have here ?" Sam asked.

"At least vampires and werewolves," Dean said. "But there are also traces of other creatures. It could be a shapeshifter that takes the skins of other monsters ?"

"It's impossible, various people were killed in various places but at the same time. And if he really was a shapeshifter, he would be a lot more discrete."

"So it could be a sort of gang."

"Yeah, a monster gang."

Suddenly, the boarding seemed to begin. Sam got up and handed Dean his bag, while Cass was heading to the gate, searching for his fresh-made fake passport.

"Come on," the younger Winchester said. "We've already done that."

Instead of responding, Dean simply gave him a bitch face.

* * *

The roaring of the engines finally calmed down. They were now flying right to London, and Dean seemed to relax a little, since the ascent fase was finished.

They were sitting in the central row of the plane, with Dean between Sam and Cass. Still, Sam could feel his brother was still tensed, even if he was trying to read an old magazine (Busty Asian Beauties, March 2010). Well, it was easy to guess because the older Winchester was flinching with every sound that came from the engines. Sam was trying to sleep, while Cass was just staring blankly in front of him.

Suddenly, turbulences made the plane shake. Dean immediately rose his head, meeting Sam's comforting gaze. His brother was wondering why he was so afraid of flying. He briefly thought about a sort of childhood trauma, but himself couldn't remember anything about a possible past accident. Maybe he was just afraid because he wasn't the one in control. After all, he always insisted on driving the Impala. Okay, it was _his_ baby, but there were a few times where it would've been wiser to let Sam drive.

The turbulence wasn't stopping and the face of the hunter was getting paler and paler, turning to a sick green. "Are you okay ?" Sam asked.

To his surprise, Dean wasn't the one to respond. Cass' deep voice came from behind the hunter. "Not at all." Dean gave him a quick glance, got up, passed awkwardly in front of his brother then ran to the toilets.

Now Sam could see Cass, whose face was just as pale as Dean's, contrasting with his dark brown hair.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked. He thought Cass wouldn't be afraid of plane, since he had wings. He was used to fly.

"In case you didn't notice, I've got no wings anymore. I feel like Buck, trapped in Hagrid's garden, except I've got no wings, and uh... It's a sort of flying garden."

Sam frowned. He still wasn't used to Cass' sudden culture, but anyway, he felt a prickle of gratefulness for Metatron's gift. That didn't stop the angelic scribe being a dick, though.

"Do you..." he began, but Dean's return cut him.

"I hate plane toilets. Or any kind of flying toilets. Or flying things." Dean put his belt on as if his life depended on it. (It probably did). "How long ? " he asked.

"Still... 5h30 to go."

"I'll kill you one day, Sammy."

"Yeah, you probably will."

"Don't say that."

* * *

Dean seemed very happy they had landed alive and in one single piece. They had found their luggage and were now heading to the closest hotel they could afford.

Cass let them there and took a cab to 221B Baker Street. He didn't know what to expect ; from what he had read, Sherlock Holmes was a strange but efficient man. Cass just hoped he would be easy to convince.

* * *

**I feel so bad for putting Cass through a meeting with a pissed off Sherlock ^^**

**Thank you for reading :) The next chapter should come in about 2-3 days.**


	4. Deep purple

**Hi everyone ! This is Chapter 3, which I had a lot of fun to write. Enjoy :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER 3 – DEEP PURPLE**

The Tardis groaned and brutally stopped, sending the Doctor backwards, but the Time Lord had just enough time to grab the rail and make a back flip, landing on his feet. "Oï, Sex y ! What the hell do you think you're doing ?"

The Tardis obviously didn't answer but began to fly again, and this time the Doctor fell, brutally landing on his back. He immediately got up and ran to the console. He pushed a few buttons, pulled on a lever, pumped with his right feet and finally gave a great hammer bump.

The time-travelling machine seemed to calm down, because now the Doctor could stand without constantly tumbling.

"I. Just. Want. To. Go. To. Sinapacialla !" he said, punctuating each word with his hammer on the console. "Planet of hot chocolates !" he finished. The Tardis resumed her mighty shaking, and again the Doctor fell. He rubbed his back, but now the machine was out of his controle. They landed a few seconds later.

"I hate you," the Doctor mumbled like a five-year-old.

A few lights slighlty flickered. Was it a grin. The Doctor tensed, but nothing else happend.

While heading to the doors, he sighed. He had dropped Clara two hours ago, and he already felt alone. Tomorrow, he would travel to the next wednesday he had dropped her, and again they would visit some mysterious and wonderful new planet.

But for now, he just wanted to know what was on the other side of the doors.

Snow. There was snow everywhere. (And this time, it wasn't ashes.) He was in London, that was certain, and it was about six p.m. Why had the Tardis taken him here ?

He observed his environement. He was in a little street, the time-travelling machine parked between bags of crap, but nothing seemed too weird, except maybe for a big white cat.

The Doctor headed to the entry of the street, and that's when he saw her. A little girl, collapsed against the wall. Her eyes were shut, and she seemed way too still.

The Gallifreyan approached her, while grabbing his sonic screwdriver. He didn't need to scan her to know that she was dead. The scan was still useful : it learned him she had bled to death through a hole in the neck. The Doctor kneeled in the snow, not caring of his deep purple pants getting cold and wet, to get a better view. There was a bite mark just under her left ear..

He bend a little more, and that's when he felt a cold hand grab his shoulder and throw him on the wall like a puppet. He collapsed in a little purple pile, but soon got up and tried to focus.

A tall, blonde man was facing him, his chin soaked in some reddish liquid. The Doctor briefly hoped it wasn't blood, but the way the man was looking at him made him feel like he was some sort of hamburger. The man let out a sort of rageous scream and charged on the Gallifreyan, who quietly got out of the way. But the creature extended one of his long arms and grabbed him anyway, slamming him again on the wall. Then, he dug his teeth in the Doctor's neck.

The Time Lord kicked and tried to scream, but nothing went out of his raw throat. He suddenly felt really tired, and gave up fighting. He was about to close is eyes, exhausted from blood loss, when a gunshot ran to the creature who flinched. Then it let go of the Doctor and ran away. The Gallifreyan tried to get up to pursue the thing but his shaky legs wouldn't allow him to run so he stayed there, again in the form of a pile of jumbled limbs.

Two men ran after the creature. They jumped from a roof and continued to follow the thing to the exit of the street, not even noticing the Doctor's limp form. One of them was tall, like _really_ tall, with nice hair, notice the Doctor. The other one seemed shorter in comparison and carried at least half a dozen of weapons, judging by the noises he produced while running. The disappeared as quick as the had arrived.

The zone where the Time Lord had been bitten hurt like hell, so he decided to go back to the Tardis to take care of it before investigating further. He got up and headed back to his well-loved time machine, still shaking.

He pushed the Tardis doors and went to the medical bay, where he sonicked his injury. Happily enough it was clean, so he just had to put a band aid on it. He had only Mickey's ones left. He also added a Cindarella's one, for a better effect. Now that it was taken care of, he could concentrate on more exciting things. Like, first things first, choose a new bow tie since the one he wore was completely soaked in his own blood.

He went to his wardrobe, and to his horror, discovered he hadn't any purple bow ties left to match with his purple jacket and his purple pants. His purple dream was over. Desperate, he searched everywhere, but the fact was there ; all he could find was his old green greatcoat the one he wore when Amy and Rory were sti... He shook his head. Those memories were still too painful to be disturbed without any good reason. He quickly found a red bow tie, a shirt and his favorite bracers, and declared himself ready for the next part of his plan ; the Stormcage Containment Facility, where he was certain he could find River.

Owin had erased every kind of data containing any information about the Doctor, but before the events of the Asylum happened, River was still in prison. It was the easiest place to find her, even if their respective timelines got messed up.

The Tardis landed with her asthmatic sound, and the Doctor ran to the doors, pretty excited. The prison was still the same ; unsafe, with a lot of shadows, no guards in the horizon and only a few lights.

River too seemed the same. She was wearing a military uniform, and her usually rebel hair were strictly tied on the back of her head. Her face seemed a bit preoccupied, but it lightened up when she saw the Doctor.

"Hello, Sweetie."

"Hi honey," the Doctor replid, using every bit of flirt technics he had ever learned.

"So, where are we ?"

"I don't know... Have you already done Demon's run ?"

"Yeah. I'm heading to the Byzantium right now, the reverend is waiting for me just two corridors away..."

"Oh, the Byzantium. Yes, I remember."

"What ?" River seemed happy. "Are you going to be there ?"

"I can't tell you, but I had a lot of fun that day..." Something else hit the Gallifreyan in the face. She couldn't come with him. "Can I ask you something ?"

"It depends on what it is," she replied, now frankly grinning.

"Your vortex manipulator."

"It's broken."

"I'll take care of that."

"You could do the same for me."

The Doctor blushed, getting a bit later what she had said, and what she meant.

"You, you... Why... would you like to..."

River's smile just got larger. She put the device in his hands and while he was trying to think of something classy to say, she kissed him right on the mouth.

The Doctor didn't think any further ; he put the vortex manipulator in his jacket pocket and kissed her back. The slammed brutally on the wall, the Time Lord's hands in River's hair, hers in his neck. Suddenly, she backed away.

"What happened to you ?"

Apparently, she had felt the Doctor's injury.

"That's nothing, I got bitten by a... thing, I suopose."

"A _thing_?"

Just as the Doctor was about to reply, an alarm rand, and River gave him a sorry glance. "I've got to go, sorry, my love. Don't forget to bring me my vortex manipulator back..."

"I won't", he promised, kissing her one last time.

River got away and disappeared into the shadowy corridors. The Doctor sighed and headed back to the Tardis.

Confortably sitting in the Tardis, the Doctor launched a search for what he called "anything interesting", but the parameers contained, in fact, everything weird in a zone of 3km round the time machine.

Among other things, like a talking cow and a never emptying fridge, the Doctor found a strange signal ; it seemed like metal, but not from Earth. He sighed again. He didn't have time to bother with things like this, but according to the fifth law of the Shadow Proclamation, no alien weapon of any kind could be brought on Earth, which was a level five planet.

The Doctor quicly typed a few numbers on the vortex manipulator, everything went black and he disappeared. The he remembered what River had said about the device being broken.

The next thing saw was a green door, just before he crashed right on it, face first.

* * *

**I hope River's okay, I found her not easy to write. Please Review :)**


	5. Not giving up

**Hi everyone, here's the fourth chapter !**

**-Spoiler for ****_Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_****-**

**Enjoy !**

**Chapter 4 - Never giving up**

Castiel was sure the cabbie was wrong. He had dropped him obviously not in the said place, and when the angel had said him it wasn't even near Baker Street, the man had just left.

Cass headed to the nearest shop, searching for informations. He pushed the door, and saw a woman sitting behind a counter. She was in her late fifties, her dirty grey hair around her face like a spider nest. Her small eyes were slowly reading a magazine. She looked like she had only eaten chicken bones for the past forty years, after a diet with which she'd have lost about a hundred pounds. In fact, her too large skin hanged from her chin. The sixth volume of Harry Potter was opened just next to her, and judging by its state it was the first time she was reading it. Castiel approached her, but she didn't even dignify him with look.

"Hello," he said, trying to be polite even if she wasn't.

"Hullo,", she mumbled. _Wow_, Cass thought. _There is progress_. "I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes."

"Yeah, he lives in this street, just a bit further... Go ahead, you can't miss his flat." She practically spat the words at his face.

"Okay, thank you," Cass said, definitely decided to stay polite whatever happened, or whoever happened to him. She snorted. He gave up."Dumbledore dies, killed by Rogue, but in fact Rogue is one of the good ones, he's a spy of Dumbledore because he was in love with Harry's mother," he said quickly before exiting the shop.

Secretly happy, he briefly felt ashamed. _I'm an angel of the Lord, for God's sake ! Well, maybe this wasn't the wisest blaspheme to choose._

He shook his head and tried to find the 221B.

The street was large enough to walk comfortably, even if there was a lot of people walking in it. Cass hated when people walked over his personal bubble. He knew Dean hated it too, (he constantly reminded him of materializing further of him), but it just wasn't the same. Being close to Dean never had been a problem, because he absolutely felt he could trust the hunter, with his life of he had to.

Sam too, he could trust, but their relationship just wasn't the same. Pulling Dean out of Hell had drawn them closer than he thought he could ever be with any other human.

_Speedy's Cafe_, he thought, seeing a cafe. _It sounds like a dog name_. It was opened, but what interested the angel was just behind him ; a great green door with the number 221B displayed on it.

He knocked four times and waited for a response, which didn't come too fast ; after a few minutes, he was raising his hand again, when the door opened on a short old lady, who smiled at his sight. A distant violin was playing a heart-wrenching melody.

"Hi, what can I do for you ?"

Castiel tried to smile too. He knew that old ladies were always impressed with smiles and politeness. "Hi, I'm Castiel, I'm very honored to meet you ; I'd want to see Sherlock Holmes. Can you call him please ? It would be very nice of you."

Her smile faded. Apparently, it was a bit _too much_.

"He... doesn't want to seen anyone. He's... busy." She had closed her eyes a fraction of second, looked annoyed and her right feet couldn't stop tapping on the ground.

Liar.

He dropped the conveniences. "Well, it's very important that I talk to him, so if you could just..." he tried to get in, but the lady wasn't born from the last rain. She closed the door on his foot, rather brutally. He didn't feel anything, since he was an angel, and opened the door while pushing her away. "Sorry, it's a question of life and death."

Seeing the doors noted "221A and "221C" in the corridor, he headed to the stairs and climbed them easily while the lady was pursuing him. But she soon slowed down and shouted in the stairs : " Sherlock, there's a visitor for you ! I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen !"

The violin didn't stop, but it accelerated then changed to a mozart's concerto, full of rapid notes. Castiel arrived on the second floor, and knocked on the door again.

"It's open," a low voice responded, sounding bored.

Castiel pushed the door and stopped. A tall man with black curly hair was standing just in front of him, his violin in his arms, scanning the angels with careful eyes. His pale face was full of cheekbones. In fact, the man entirely looked only made of bones. He soon looked perplex, and seeing the strange face he made, he wasn't used to it. Cass assumed he was Sherlock Holmes, since he responded to every description ; tall, weird.

"_Who_ are you ?" he asked.

"Hi, I'm Castiel, I'm an angel of the Lord, and you have to stop investigating on the series of murders that are actually happening."

"I'm not giving up."

Cass was disturbed. Was he aware about the supernatural ? Holmes hadn't even flinched at the mention of "angel of the Lord".

"Do you know about the supernatural ?"

"What "supernatural" ?"

"You didn't ask any questions about my angeliness."

"Well, you're wearing a cheap suit, a trench that must be about... two sizes too big for you, I assume either you're, as you say, an _angel of the Lord_ (but his voice was sarcastic), either you're a loony."

"I'm not a loony. Well, not anymore. It has been a problem, for a time, but then I went to Purgatory, then came back, and finally everything's arranged."

Holmes blinked. "I've got no time for this. Get out, I've got important things to do."

Cass sighed. He would have to convince him. "No, listen. I'm not a fool, and the supernatural _exists._ Haven't you ever been blocked on a case, because no one is guilty ? Because the murder is too strange, people getting killed with incommensurable savagery, accidents just too strange to just be accidents ?"

He knew he had hit a good point when he saw Holmes putting his violin back on a couch. The detective sat on his armchair, while inviting the angel to do the same.

"Mrs. Hudson !" he shouted to the door. "Tea !"

"Not your housekeeper, dear, just your landlady !" a distant voice responded.

* * *

Sherlock didn't know what to think. The stranger, _Castiel_ - what a strange name, but well, himself was called Sherlock he couldn't say a thing about names - seemed genuinely sincere. While thinking, the great detective scanned the man again.

He was sitting on the couch, his hands resting on his knees. He looked thin in his trench coat, maybe because of its too large size. His dark brown hair were a bit messed up, as if it had never seen a brush, and his bright blue eyes were looking at him, like they were trying to see what was happening in his mind. He looked tired, too ; big black circles under his eyes indicated he hadn't been sleeping a lot lately.

But that was everything. He couldn't deduce anything else. The man he was examining looked like a sort of tax accountant, but the man he was talking to was different. Inexplicably _different_. No rational explanation could explain the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he thought. The only explanation Sherlock could think of, was that the man was saying the truth. Which was... Strange.

Sherlock sighed. What had he said to John ? _When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth_.

_Okay._

"What do you say it is ? The first one, bitten to death."

"Vampire," Castiel said.

"Okay. I'm not going to stop investigate. I know I... don't have enough knowledge to be on my own, so I want to investigate with you."

Acknowledging he didn't know something was _very_ rare for Sherlock. But Castiel seemed good enough to be trusted.

"It's... dangerous," the angel said.

"Not important," the detective replied. "I'm... clever. I can help you. And if you don't want me, well, I'll do it on my own."

Castiel looked absent-minded for a second. "Okay,", he finally said. "I'll call Dean and Sam."

The detective was perplex (again, he thought ; that wasn't good for his image), but let the angel do a phone call.

* * *

_"We were pursuing a vampire, but he got away,"_ Dean said. _"We're coming."_

Castiel hung up the phone and put it back in his trench coat pocket. He was about to speak when a loud _bang_ interrupted him.


	6. Of Fallen Angels and Time Lords

**AU : My greatest apologizes for the delay ; my dad had an accident and had to go to the hospital, and since tuesday it's very complicated at home because he has one hand he can't use at all, and he has difficulties to walk and st**uff. So again I'm sorry, but here's Chapter 5 !

Oh, and I** forgot the Disclaimer.. So here it is : No character from Doctor Who, Sherlock or Supernatural belongs to me (but i'll do anything i can to solve that problem^^)**

**Reply to (the) review :****randomcupofnoodles**** : thank you very much, it really pushes me to write more ! :)**

**Enjoy !**

**Chapter 5 - Of Fallen Angels and Time Lords**

"Oï" the Doctor shouted to the door. He got up and prepared himself for another timey-wimey journey, but an old lady cut him in his programing of the device. She was short, with slightly curl light-brown, almost grey hair. She seemed a bit disturbed, and seeing the way her chest waved, had been running to open the door.

"Oh dear !" she said, looking at the damage he had done to the door. "That's very rude, young man. They don't learn you to knock, where you're from ?"

"Sorry, ma'am. I'm the Doctor. Sorry for your door. What's your name ?" he asked, trying to seem polite and interested.

"That's better. I'm Mrs. Hudson." She twiddled the splinters in the door, grimace but tried to gather herself. "So. What do you want ?"

"Uh..." The Doctor had no idea what he was supposed to say, since he absolutely didn't know _what_ he wanted. "I'd _like_... to go inside ?"

The woman sighed and rolled her eyes. "So you're with this man, huh, Castiel ? I knew, _I knew_ he wasn't alone and he would have backups ! But Sherlock isn't going to surrender to... to whatever you want him to do !"

The Doctor tried to follow her thinkings. So a man -Castiel- had presented himself earlier, and he wanted to meet "Sherlock". Who was this man, who were these men, he had no idea. But statistics told him there was about 99% of chances that the strange weapon signal came from here.

"Uh, no," he said. "I don't know this Castiel, but I have to see Sherlock for a matter of the highest importance."

The old lady sighed. "After all, one or two, what's the difference ?" she asked, but the question was more addressed to herself than to the Doctor.

Just when the Doctor was about to step inside, two men irrupted from the stairs. One was tall, pale, with black curly hair and high cheekbones. He seemed genuinely bored by the Doctor's arrival.

The other one was a bit shorter, with very nice hair, the Doctor noticed, almost the same as his previous incarnation. The most remarkable feature about his face was that he looked so perplexed. He observed the Doctor for two seconds and tilted his head on his right side, like a little boy, or a lost puppy.

"Hi," the Doctor said, waving his hand, "I'm the Doctor."

They were sitting in the living room, Castiel and the Doctor on one of the couches and Sherlock on the other one.

"So." The detective said. He opened his mouth wider, but seemed to change his mind. He turned to Castiel. "Explain him. But don't talk too loud. I have to think."

The others exchanged a shocked look but didn't say anything.

"Uh..." Castiel said, obviously not knowing where to begin. "Why did you come here, anyway ?"

The Doctor sighed ; obviously, he'd have to explain everything if he wanted to find the alien weapon. "I'm the Doctor, I'm a Time Lord from the lost planet Gallifrey, I travel in space as well as in time with my Tardis, and I found a signal for an alien weapon. Well, I don't really know if it's a weapon, but it wasn't forged on Earth."

Even if he'd been faking disinterest, Sherlock suddenly turned to them. "Not on Earth, you said ?" he repeated.

"Exactly," the Doctor said. "And since Earth is a level five planet, following the laws of the Shadow Proclamation, no alien... stuff can be publicly exposed. It's dangerous to show people what they aren't ready to understand."

"What's the Shadow Proclamation ?" asked Sherlock, while Castiel just said : "I know what it is you're searching."

"What ?" the other two said, turning to Cass.

"I have... something in my possession that was forged in Heaven."

The Doctor sighed. Okay, he had found two fools. _Again_. He had no time to lose, since the Judoon could already be on road to find the weapon. They were the armed force of the Shadow Proclamation, and the Time Lord _really_ didn't want to face them again.

"_Heaven_ ?" the Doctor asked.

"That's right, I didn't explain anything about myself to him," Castiel said to Sherlock.

"Proceed," he replied, "And wake me up when you two are done." And without any other words, he turned himself on the couch and closed his eyes.

"I'm Castiel," the man said as the Doctor was watching him in disbelief, "And I'm a angel of the Lord."

The doctor froze, and horrible feeling growing inside him. The man looked like... well, a man, but he didn't seem human. Not completely. Could the weeping angels be planning an invasion of Earth ?

"An angel ? Does it happen to you to... weep ? Have psychopathic tendencies ? Hide your face with your hands ? Travel in time ?" the Doctor asked, slowly taking his sonic screwdriver out of his jacket pocket.

"Uh... Not that I am aware of," Castiel said. He sounded a bit perplexed.

The Doctor quickly scanned him and was soon reassured ; the man was definitely _not_ made of stone. In fact, is outer body was human, but what was _inside_ wasn't. Seeing the data the device gave him, the Time Lord could conclude the angel said the truth ; he had something withe, brilliant, inside him. And it was _alive_.

"What... is that ?" the Doctor asked.

"What is what ?"

"This... brilliant, withe, glowing thing inside you."

"Oh." The angel seemed proud, ashamed and shy, everything at the same time. "It's my Grace. It's... me. My angelic part."

"Ah." The Doctor said, trying to process the information.

"So ; I was trying to explain this to you ; you know, stories, legends about vampires, werewolves, ruguarus, witches, faeries... Everything's true."

"What ? No... Aliens do exist, but legends are just legends. Well, not all the time, one day I met this big whale that lived underneath a starship." The TIme Lord was about to tell everything that had happened on the Starship U.K., but a loud bang interrupted him. It sounded like a door bursting open. He then heard two sets of foot climbing the stairs, while the voice of Mrs. Hudson was loudly protesting.

The second door opened brutally, and the Doctor immediately recognized the two men that had passed before him, pursuing the _thing_ that had bitten him. Recalling that memory remembered the Doctor that the thing could've been a vampire. It had been night ; it had drank his blood...

The tall one was very tall. The Gallifreyan wasn't used to lift his head to watch people in the eyes, but with this one he would have to. His hair were long and flappy, the Doctor felt a bit jealous. The shorter one wasn't so shorter ; in fact, he was at exactly the same high as the Time Lord, but much larger.

His reflexions were cut when he took a splash of water in the face.

"What was that for ?" he asked, shaking his face and sending droplets everywhere.

"To see f you're a demon..." The shorter one began. "Or not," he finished, seeing that it hadn't affected the Doctor. "I'm Dean Winchester, and he's my brother, Sam," he said while giving him a short silvery knife.

"I explained him everything about the supernatural," Castiel said to the one named Sam, " But he doesn't want to give up. He said he would help us, no matter what happens."

"But I'll need John," Sherlock replied, sounding confident.

"Who's John ?" the angel and the Winchester asked, while Dean shouted "He's not human !"

The Doctor had been asked to cut himself to see if "he was on of the bad guys", as Dean had said. He didn't know what was supposed to happen, but he obviously hadn't passed the test. As soon as he had seen his red, sligthly orangy blood, Dean had jumped on him, pinning the Time Lord on the ground. The Gallifreyan struggled, but the Winchester obviously wasn't a debutant fighter. He took the knife and pointed it on his throat.

"I could've told you that," the Doctor replied. "In fact, I've already told that to you friend here -Castiel. I'm a Time Lord, it means I come from the planet Gallifrey, or the Shining World of the Seven Systems. It also means I can travel in time and space with my time-travelling ship, the Tardis. Any questions ?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Are you planning on invading the Earth ?" Sam finally asked.

"Me ? No ! I'm trying to defend it ! And you're telling me there are angels, and demons, and witches ! Well, witches, I knew, in fact they're Carrionites, they're not at all gentle, but..." The Doctor stopped. Apparently, the knowledge he was giving them didn't interested them. They just wanted to know why he was there.

He explained everything, and the were talking about the murders when the door opened again. This time, it was a short man with blonde hair. He looked strangely normal. He caught everything in the piece in a single glance, then turned to Sherlock.

"Explain."

The detective seemed to enlighten. "This is Castiel, an angel directly fallen from Heaven, the giraffe is called Sam Winchester, next one is his brother Dean - they're hunters- and the last one with strange hair is called the Doctor, he's a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey. We were discussing the fact that the series of murders was caused by supernatural causes, as such as vampires for the man who died just before you. I was about to tell them that it stinks the presence of Moriarty as well. In case you have any other question, do not ask."

The detective took his breath, then turned to the others. "This is Dr. John Watson, my... blogger."

The doctor in question blinked. "I'll... just make tea for everyone, okay ?" he said hesitantly.

Thanks for reading :)

**I won't be updating again until the 15th of Augustus because I'm going to Greece with my school. We'll visit Parthenon and Athena Nikè and Santorini and Delphos and other things with our professors as guides. I can't wait, sometimes I'm literally bouncing everywhere! I'm so excited !**

**But we also will have a lot of bus and plane (I live in Belgium) so I'll try to write as much as possible (on paper, of course) and I'll rewrite everything on my computer when I'm back.**

**Ps: It seems that my chapters are becoming longer and longer ; please tell me if you want them shorter, as they are or longer :)**


	7. Splitting up

**AN : Sorry for the long wait, but I had an awful lot of things to do ! **

**Enjoy !**

* * *

**Chapter 6 - Splitting up**

A few minutes later, everyone had received his cup of tea, except for Dean who said that he "didn't see why he would drink british crappy things", and stole a beer from the fridge (he hadn't seemed particularly disturbed by the head hidden in it). They were now examining the wall on which Sherlock had pinned everything Lestrade had found about the murders. Castiel and the Winchesters were giving more information.

Sam scratched his head ; he didn't understand what was happening. Twenty-eight corpses had been found, but there were at least twenty-three different modi operandi. So it couldn't be a single creature. But the choices of victims were too similar to come from different heads.

"This one is from a witch," the younger Winchester said, tapping on the picture of Lillian Brown, a eleven-year-old girl who had drowned in her bath.

"And how can you say that ?" Sherlock asked.

"This hex." Sam pointed the picture of a little bag lost in the clues. "It's typical of witches ; they hide it in the house of their victim, and depending on the spell they've chosen, the people die in a horrible or really horrible way."

The hunter could literally see Sherlock's brain proceed and stock the information as he joined his hand under his chin.

The Doctor seemed to come back to life. He showed them the picture of the dead body of a young boy in the woods. In the back there was a statue. The stone angel was most likely crying, his head burried in his joined hands.

"The legend of the picture says the boy, Heinrich Jones, went to the woods two weeks ago, with his sister, Carla, to play hide-and-seek. They found the boy yesterday, but Carla never showed up. I think I know why. This marble statue, it's called a weeping angel."

"Angels don't weep," Cass observed.

Sam sighed. "It's obviously not a real angel. I think I heard about that legend. Isn't there something with looking at them ?" he asked.

"You got it," the Gallifreyan replied. "The stone ; it's just a disguise. They are... creatures. When you don't look at them, they move. Fast. To kill you, they send you back in the past, fifty, seventy, a hundred years ago, and they nourish on the life you would have had, had you stayed in the present."

"Nice."

Sam didn't need to look to know it was Sherlock who had made that comment.

"Okay for the girl," John said, "but about the boy ? Why didn't he die the same way as his sister ? I mean, it seems he has been... devoured."

"Wendigo."

It was Dean who had spoken, and everyone silenced, as if they knew the horror that would follow.

"Very rare, and it's for the better. They're... They were, once, a long time ago, humans. But the little part of humanity they ever possessed disappeared a while ago when, out of food, they began to eat other humans. Cultures over the world, they believe that eating human flesh makes you... stronger, faster. But once you've changed, you can't turn back. And so wendigos hide in the woods, taking humans, keeping them alive in their caves to eat them, little piece by little piece."

"Not nice."

This time it was John who had spoken.

"We have to stop this," he said. "But I don't know where to begin, since there are so many murders, and you -he pointed at Cass, Dean and Sam- say it can't be the same creature."

"We should split in groups of two," Sherlock proposed. "We'll ask questions to the family of the four last victims. William Carlton, Heinrich and Carla Jones, Rebecca Eaton."

He showed them pictures of the victims.

"William Carlton was a young boy, no more than six when he died. One day he was fine, and the next one he didn't wake up. He was admitted in the hospital but died without regaining conscience."

"Wasn't he just sick ?" the Doctor asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "His vitals were good, he had no sign of any known sickness, and then bam, he died in a second. It's not... It's not natural. And I want to be sure we don't let any clue escape us."

"So who's gonna investigate on that ?" Dean asked. "I want to be part of the group ; I have a strange déjà-vu feeling when I think about it."

"Okay, who wants to go with Dean ?" his brother asked. "I think it's better if Cass, Dean and I split up, so each group will have a supernatural experience."

"I agree", John said. "I'll go with Dean."

Sherlock snorted. "Now that we're done with details, maybe we can concentrate on the second case we're investigating on ? Heinrich and Carla Jones. Respectively seven and eleven years old. Who wants to search the... - he frowned, as he didn't believe what he was saying - wendigo ?"

"I'm on it", the Doctor said. "After all, I'm the only one who has fought weeping angels."

"I'm with you", Sam added. "Always wanted to see one of this bastards for real."

"So it leaves me and Castiel to investigate on Rebecca Eaton", Sherlock finished. "She disappeared one night, then came back, the disappeared again. Forever, this time."

* * *

TBC

Very short chapter, but the next ones will be longer.


	8. Rebecca

**AN : Thanks for the reviews ! I'm so excited when I read them!**

**kookieznkream: at your service ;)**

**MewLover : thank you very much, it keeps me going :)**

**Enjoy !**

* * *

**Chapter 7 - Rebecca**

The silence was horribly awkward. Cass wasn't used to feel uncomfortable because of the lack of chat, but with Sherlock sitting beside him in the cab, he just felt he had to say something, even if it felt stupid.

"Nice trench coat", he finally said, and before the last word, he felt stupider that he thought possible. He shouldn't even have opened his mouth. The look Sherlock gave him confirmed that, until the detective responded.

"Yours is nice too."

Then silence resumed, but this time it wasn't one of this awkward silences when no one knows what to say ; it was just a comfortable silence when no one _needs_ to say anything.

The cab stopped abruptly, Sherlock threw money at the cabbie through the opening and headed towards the portal.

Cass followed slower, taking his time to examine the house before entering it. They were in the suburbs, nearly outside London, and the wealthiness was literally screamed at their face. The gigantic house stood about fifty meters behind the portal, which was the only opening in the high walls. Two lines of pines stood on both sides of the path made of well-adjusted beige stones. At the end of it, the door of he house was just as menacing as Not a leave, not a branch was in the way.

Sherlock pushed on a small button on the left of the portal and automatically, a camera turned to his face.

"Hi,", he said, "I'm Sherlock Holmes, I have a few questions about Rebecca." The answer was quick and surely not very polite, because Sherlock brusquely snorted and gave a long sigh.

The portal opened and Cass followed the detective along the path. Now that he was inside the place, he could see that the exterior of the property was nothing compared to what was hidden behind the walls. Large grass area were only interrupted by flower beds and oak groves. But if Cass loved parks (after all, they were a mix between two of the most beautiful of his Father's creations : human race, and nature), this one he didn't loved. Everything was just too well-kept, too obviously cut to fit only one person's desires. And that person, Cass didn't want to meet. It was obviously a man, used to the fear he inspired everyone. He was used to be immediately obeyed when he asked, no, demanded, something.

But Sherlock wasn't paying attention to the garden, or at least didn't seem to. He headed towards the door, not watching if Cass was following him.

The angel fastened his pace to keep up with the detective and they arrived together at the door, were a sort of butler invited them to enter the house.

"Mr. and Mrs. Eaton will receive you in the Yellow Room", the man said. He opened the door and then disappeared, leaving Sherlock to sit in the couch while Cass just waited in the middle of the room.

The Eatons arrived a few minutes later. The man was just like Cass had expected him to be ; small, with brown eyes and grey hair, looking as if he wanted to bite someone. His wife was more normal ; even smaller than her husband. Obviously, tears had just stopped streaking on her face.

"So." Mr. Eaton began. "What do you want ?" He was entirely turned to Sherlock, as if Cass didn't even exist.

"We are currently investigating on the disappearance of your daughter, young Rebecca, and we'd like to ask you a few questions. When did she first disappear ?"

Mrs. Eaton immediately began to weep, and her husband looked at her with slight disgust in his gaze. Cass sighed, then sat down beside the poor woman. He put a comforting hand on her arm. "We know it's a hard time for you, ma'am, and let's just pray to Jesus Christ that it will be over soon" he said in his most gentle voice. "But we need to know what happened to be more effective. So, please, answer the question."

"It was, uh, a few days ago... "She stopped and wiped her eyes with her arm. Her husband gave her a second disgusted look. She sniffed. "Wednesday, I think. Yeah, she first disappeared on wednesday. She left home to go to school, and the butler, I mean Nestor, he has to pick her up after school to drive her to her dance lessons. But she never arrived." Once more, she burst into tears, and this time even Cass' comforting touch couldn't counterbalance the concentrated look Sherlock gave her.

Her husband readjusted his costume jacket, obviously uncomfortable with his wife's emotions. Cass decided to let Sherlock ask the second question, because he had suddenly understood Mr. Eaton's dislike towards himself. The man wore a neatly ironed costume, with a tie and a vest, while himself still had Jimmy Novak's old costume, and on it his beige trench coat. His tie wasn't well adjusted and its backside was showing. _So everything's just a question of appearance_, he thought.

"When did she return ?" was Sherlock next move.

"The next day." This time it was Mr. Eaton who had spoken. "School called to say that she just showed up for classes. She came home with Nestor, my wife and myself are very occupied, you know, and we saw her in the evening. She seemed normal, but didn't answer any of our questions. The doctors said to let her some time to readjust herself, and to ask her more questions during the week-end. But..." He stopped.

"She disappeared again," Cass softly said.

Mrs. Eaton lifted her eyes to meet his blue ones. "Yes," she whispered. "The same story repeated on friday afternoon. Nestor went to school to pick her up, but she wasn't here."

The angel sighed. "And now it's wednesday again, and this time she hasn't showed up anywhere."

"Did you notice something strange ?" Sherlock asked, entirely concentrated on his own thoughts, unaware of the hurt glance Mrs. Eaton gave him. "No. She has always been a calm child, never disobeying, just reading or playing in her bedroom."

Cass didn't hear the rest of the conversation, lost in his thoughts. Did Rebecca run away on her own ? Did someone kidnap her ? What supernatural creature could be involved in her disappearance ? And then suddenly he couldn't stand Mr. Eaton's staring anymore. "Can we see it ? Her bedroom ?"

"Of course", Mrs. Eaton replied. "Nestor will lead you."

The butler appeared as if he had been ringed, and took Cass and Sherlock upstairs. He opened a pink door then let them alone.

Rebecca's bedroom was too neatly kept. That was Cass' first thought. No toys, no papers, no drawings. As if the little girl was already dead. Which was probably the case, but they weren't just going to give up so easily. The pink floor matched the pink bed, the pink wardrobe and the pink drapes.

Sherlock began to search in the desk drawers, while Cass attentively sniffed the air. "No sulfur," he announced. "No demon came here."

The search finally gave them nothing. The only interesting thing they found was a blood drop, lost in the (pink) bed sheets. Sherlock took a picture of it, then simply cut the stained part of the sheets to analyze it.

Nestor took them back to the front door, and the exited the house without seeing the Eatons again.

"I'd really like to know if the blood is hers", Cass said. "By the way, non of the Eatons was possessed, I checked. They didn't react when I mentioned the Christ. In fact, the Eatons were abnormally normal."

"I disagree," Sherlock said. "Her father is obviously not normal. It's like a not-upgraded version of my own brother, Mycroft. He wants to control everything and everyone. Seeing him, I'd say it's a fugue, but then why did she come back ? And she didn't take anything, so it can't be that. Anyway, I'd like to hear what her classmates think of her."

"We can see them tomorrow this afternoon", Cass said. "But we should first reunite with the other to see what they learned."

"Sure."

They were now about halfway trough the gardens, but Castiel could see something was bothering Sherlock.

"And the butler ? Was he... Human ?"

"Yes."

"I don't like him. I don't know what, but there something not logical in their story. I mean, why is Nestor picking her up after school, but not dropping her in the morning ? Why hasn't he spoken himself ? I asked a few questions directly to him, but Mr. or Mrs. Eaton always answered in his place. And then..."

Cass stopped listening when he noticed Sherlock was just thinking aloud. Someone was staring at him, of that he was sure. He had that tickling sensation in his neck that wouldn't fade, and concentrated in place of caring about Sherlock's rambling.

Then he suddenly had to pay attention to something even more pressing.

* * *

"... meet him. So what do you think of Nestor ?"

There was no answer to the brilliantly elaborated theory Sherlock was exposing. He sighed and turned back.

He was alone.

* * *

**Next chapter will see what happens when Dean takes a cab :)**


End file.
